


Another First Encounter

by themanwiththeplan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themanwiththeplan/pseuds/themanwiththeplan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson meet for the very first time - under somewhat different circumstances. And with a somewhat different outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alyxpoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/gifts).



When Sherlock arrived at the crime scene, Detective Inspector Lestrade was already waiting for him.

“So, Detective Inspector… you finally decided to invite me in on this”, Sherlock said, his eyes focusing on the body lying before him on the floor.

“Finally, what do you mean, finally?”, Lestrade asked.

“Well, Detective Inspector, four weeks ago a dead Klingon at a Star Trek Convention, two months prior to that a Hobbit drew his last breath at a Lord of the Rings Convention. And now a vampire is lying dead at a Fantasy gathering. I’m sensing a pattern here, wouldn’t you agree?”, the Consulting Detective explained, matter of factly. Before Lestrade could even think of an answer, Sherlock continued: “And who is he?”

With that, he motioned to a short man with blonde hair who was standing in a corner of the otherwise empty conference room. Lestrade indicated for the man to join them, and while he slowly walked towards them with a slight limp, the Inspector explained: “He is with the Paramedics team that’s assigned to the Convention. His name is John Watson, he’s a former army doctor who…”

“Yes, I can see that”, Sherlock interrupted, turned to the doctor and asked: “Have you come to any conclusions yet?”

“I beg your pardon…?”, was John Watsons irritated reply. Sherlock impatiently rolled his eyes and said: “Oh God, you certainly have been here long enough, staring at the body? Any conclusions?”

John Watson swallowed hard, then answered: “Well, the most important conclusion would be: He’s dead, stabbed in the back, no bite visible. Not really a very real vampire, I would say.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but to smirk. He now looked closer at the man, who was in his early forties, who had either been in Afghanistan or Iraq and who had a psychosomatic limp.

“A very accurate observation. Anything else?”, Sherlock asked.

“I thought they specifically called you to find out about anything else.” John Watson gave Sherlock a somewhat quizzical look, but the tall man with the curly hair had already turned back to the dead… vampire. After a few minutes of examining the body, he said to Lestrade: “You and your people will have to talk to every single… vampire out there. Let me know if you find anything of value.”

 

\---------------

 

A few days later, Sherlock and John Watson met again in Lestrade’s office. Sherlock asked some more questions, John gave some more answers, and Sherlock grew more and more fascinated by the man who seemed startlingly unimpressed be Sherlock’s… Sherlockness. Admitted, John was surprised, fascinated, amazed when Sherlock effortlessly deduced him from head to toes, then again who wouldn’t be? But this was enjoyably (yes, enjoyably!) new: John wasn’t appalled by it or cynical about it, on the contrary. He didn’t hesitate to blurt out: “Extraordinary. Quite… extraordinary!”

It only took Sherlock a few minutes to know everything he needed to know about John Watson – or so he thought. But granted, the most important finding about the doctor right at that moment was: He was looking for a flat. And Sherlock was looking for a flat mate. And John was… well, acceptable, very acceptable. As acceptable a flat mate Sherlock could ever hope to find, even he, who didn’t do emotions and sentiment, realized this in a split second. And curiously he wasn’t so sure – and usually he was sure about everything! – whether or not ‘acceptable’ really was an… acceptable word to describe John Watson.

 

\---------------

 

They met in front of 221B Baker Street the next evening. When they stepped into the living room, Sherlock took off his coat. John couldn’t help but notice the tight white shirt, the braces stretching across it, Sherlock’s lean and at the same time inviting body.

‘Hell, what’s wrong with you?’, John thought to himself and frantically tried to concentrate on something else, on the fire place (sitting in front of it next to Sherlock…), the leather sofa (being slouched on it with Sherlock…), the kitchen (standing at the sideboard with Sherlock pressing his body against John’s from behind), the bathroom with its washing machine (sitting on it with Sherlock… oh God… Oh God Yes!).

“John, is something wrong with you?”, Sherlock asked and stepped a little closer. Close enough for John to smell Sherlock’s hair, to be tempted to touch those ridiculously curly curls, to unstrap those braces…

“No, I’m fine, it’s all fine”, John somehow managed to answer. Sherlock looked at him closely, and John knew he needed to say something now, or otherwise…

“Uhm… how did you know my limp was psychosomatic?”, he asked.

“Well, for starters, I was pretty sure you hadn’t fallen off a horse”, Sherlock said.

“Pretty sure…? Well, I don’t really know anything about you, but ‘pretty sure’ doesn’t quite sound like you.”

“But no horse.”

“No horse, true. Riding a horse isn’t really… you know… uhm…”

Okay, that was it. John had to get a grip on himself. Whatever it was that was going on here, it had to stop, John had to make it stop. He clearly wasn’t himself, and he had no idea why. Well, that was not entirely true, he had an idea, a pretty good idea, for that matter. But going there probably _wasn’t_ such a good idea, so he simply had to stop…

“John, stop it”, Sherlock said.

“Stop…what?”, John asked, surprised, nervous.

“Stop pretending you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed? What?”

“Me, John”, Sherlock said, impatience resonating in his voice.

“What about you?”, John asked, breaking Sherlock’s gaze and trying to take a step back. But Sherlock was faster, he wouldn’t let him, he just grabbed John by his arms and drew him in even closer instead. 

“I hate to admit it, but I don’t really know, John. I just know it’s because of you. And I know how you just looked at me when I took off my coat”, Sherlock said, his voice being a mere whisper now.

“Sherlock, I didn’t… I mean, I just happened to…”

“John, I know. I also just happened to…”

And with that Sherlock brought up his right hand to John’s face, then slowly, carefully caressed the doctor’s cheek, ear, nose, lips and finally – and later he wasn’t able to determine where he took the courage from to do something so unlike himself – brought his own lips to John’s mouth and kissed him. Kissed him for seconds or minutes or hours, neither of them would have been able to tell. And John kissed Sherlock back, cautiously at first, then more and more demanding, then again tender and hot, then all at once and even more.

When their lips finally parted, Sherlock felt as if he had known John Watson for all of his life. And John felt as if Sherlock had been there with him in Afghanistan, as if he had been there with John all along.

“Quite extraordinary”, John sighed, knowing just too well that those were two of the first words he had ever said to Sherlock.

“Oh god yes”, Sherlock said breathlessly, having no idea that he had just vocalized what John felt deep inside of himself.

“I don’t even know you”, John said. Sherlock smiled and answered: “I’d like to say the same about you, but… well, that would be a lie.”

“Show-off…”, John said.

“My John…”, Sherlock retorted.

“Shut up!”

“Make me…”

 

And after that, no more words were spoken in 221B Baker Street for a very long time. And it was all fine.


End file.
